


Freaks in the Circus

by warriorpoet



Category: Fake News RPF
Genre: Community: fakenews_fanfic, D/s, Light Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-24
Updated: 2008-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-11 20:45:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1177730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warriorpoet/pseuds/warriorpoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I love being in situations where I feel like I'm in trouble."<br/>-- Stephen Colbert, <i>Fresh Air</i> 11/19/08</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freaks in the Circus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarcasticsra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticsra/gifts).



> Written for sarcasticsra for FNFF Secret Santa 2008, who requested sub Stephen D/s based on that intriguing quote from a Fresh Air interview.

Stephen's life has always been a tightrope act. 

Identifying the line and treading it carefully. Knowing how to push it, how to push himself. Juggling too many things at once. Too much weight resting on his shoulders, hard to balance. Aiming impossibly high and leaping for it. Always without a net.

This is how he falls. 

The tightrope so carefully danced across is now the rope that binds his wrists. The blind faith he had when setting his targets is now reduced to simple blindness, cloth pressed tightly against his eyes. He is on his knees, on stable ground, his head resting on the wall in front of him. 

But truly, he is falling. 

He can't remember a time when he hasn't been far from a state of intense focus. This is no exception. 

He holds his breath for as long as he can take before he exhales, slowly, steadily, and tries to inhale silently, hearing the shake in his throat anyway. With his sight stolen, his half-hearing strains to overcompensate, the left side of his skull on aural overload, his sense of balance thrown. Vertigo rises from deep within him. He pitches forward, leans heavily against the wall. The plaster is a cold shock to his naked skin, every cell on high alert. 

"Careful." 

Stephen nods to show he has heard, stays silent to show he knows the rules. 

The touch to the back of his neck is light and packs a small electric charge. The surrounding nerves gather and surge, recoil as the touch becomes heavier and the bite of clipped nails digs in. 

"Why do you do this? You always do this." 

He has been asked a question, so he may speak. But he is unsure what to say. His mouth is dry and it takes two attempts before he can form sound around the words. "Do what?" 

The hand on his neck releases its grip and the fingers now trail up, gently, over the knot in the blindfold and through his hair. The fingers clench again, his head is pulled back roughly. He feels the brush of lips against his ear, makes out the words that are more vibration than sound. 

"Don't play dumb. You're too smart to play dumb." 

It is easier to apologize than to ask permission. 

"I'm sorry." 

Except here, now, with things the way they are. The rules of the high wire act have long been given up. This is the free fall. 

This man is now Stephen's only audience, and his satisfaction, his approval, the only things that matter. He knows exactly what heights Stephen is capable of. When they are not met, his disappointment is profound. Crushing.

It comforts Stephen to know that if he ever lets himself off too easy, if he's settling for less from himself, he has someone to depend on who will never let him get away with it. 

"Don't bother trying to apologize. Just answer me. Why do you always set the bar so high when you know you won't reach it?" 

Stephen's scalp burns, his neck aches from being thrown back at this angle. He feels humid breath at his ear, then the tiny bloom of pain as teeth latch delicately around the earlobe. 

He gasps. 

"Th-the payoff. The payoff when it happens makes it worth it." 

The teeth are gone. The hand in his hair releases, shoves him forward. The vertigo is back, and he panics as he pitches forward until the wall is under him, against him, surrounding him. 

"Keep going." 

There's a constellation of light floating in the darkness in front of his eyes. His breathing quickens and shallows. He doesn't know if his eyes are closed or not. 

"Stephen. Keep talking." 

"I want the uncertainty. The fear, and the panic, of never knowing if I'm going to make it. If I can stay out of trouble. Nine times out of ten, I don't get there. But tenth time, it makes the failures worth it," he says slowly. A bead of sweat rolls down his inner arm, into the rope at his wrist. It itches. 

"And the other nine times?" 

"I have you. You make it worth it. You make me want to be better." 

"What payoff are you trying to get to now?" 

Stephen laughs in breathless disbelief. Isn't it obvious? 

"I want to touch you. God, I want to touch you." 

There is an extended moment of silence, and Stephen strains to hear over the blood rushing in his head, listening for the sound of soft footsteps and the creak of door hinges, terrified he's been left alone. 

But, no, the other man is still there, and now he's tantalizingly close. Stephen turns toward where he feels the heat coming from, like he might tip his face to the sun to seek warmth on a bitter cold morning. 

"Is that all?" 

Stephen swallows, croaks, "I want to make you happy."

"Bullshit. You're not that altruistic."

"I want to suck your cock." 

There's a satisfied sound that's something like a surprised, aroused laugh being stifled. Hands seize Stephen's shoulders and twist his body around. His knees ache, the skin burns as he moves on the carpet. He bows his head and waits as the hands move away and he can hear the rustle of cloth and the pull of a zipper. Then the hand is back in his hair, fingers clenched. Smooth, slick flesh nudges against his lips. 

Stephen's mouth parts and he leads with his tongue as he takes in the other man's erection. He laves the head, takes it deeper, all while aching to be able to touch him. His fingers flex, he tests the binds again. The rope bites into his wrists, unyielding. All he can do is focus on every twitch and pulse he feels against his tongue and listen for the shifts in breathing and hissed curses above him. 

He pulls his mouth free and trails his lips down the shaft until his cheek lies against a hip, the hand in his hair spanning the back of his skull and pressing him close. Stephen blindly nuzzles against the body, his tongue sliding against coarse hair and soft skin, finally bringing his mouth to the testicles. The man sighs above him, shifts closer, and suddenly Stephen's erection is bumping up against the solid weight of a leg. Stephen groans past the obstruction in his mouth, thrusts forward without thinking, aching for release. 

The hand in his hair is pulling him back sharply. "What, you think you can hump my leg like a fucking dog?"

"I'm sorry - please -" Stephen gasps.

"Lie on your back." His voice is low and steady and makes Stephen's heart pick up.

He awkwardly pulls his legs out from underneath him and lies down on the ground, his bound hands clenched into fists and wedged against the small of his back. He can hear no movement, can't tell where his Master has gone. He tenses, the seconds drawing out, the feeling of being a disappointment burning inside him again. 

Stephen can never stay out of trouble.

He thinks the wait for what happens next might kill him. The safe word crouches at the back of his throat, poised to spring. He swallows it down, determined to see this, like everything, through to the end. 

Suddenly, strong hands grip his ankles and his leg reflexively jerks away. The hands release him and he feels the other body crawl over him. There's a soft touch to his cheek and a sweet, merciful whisper in his ear. 

"It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Stephen shakily breathes in and nods quickly. He knows that. He feels guilty for getting scared, and the guilt, like the fear, is an addiction.

The weight rests against Stephen's thighs and soon he feels hard, slippery heat sliding at his groin. He moans at the contact and hands quickly move to grip his shoulders.

"Don't you dare fucking come before me."

"No," Stephen whispers his assurance.

"Now you'll see what it's like," he speaks through heavy breaths, grunting softly as his cock thrusts over Stephen's. "What it's like to be used like that. To be treated like something whose only purpose is to get everyone else off... but you like that, don't you?"

Stephen uses his bound hands for leverage and lifts his hips up, pressing them closer together. "Fuck, yes," he whimpers.

The man above him is silent, save for his erratic breaths and sighs, until he moans deeply, uncontrolled. Stephen feels the wet pressure of an open mouth at his throat, the lips curving into a smile and the warm breath that rides out on a laugh.

"Oh, Jesus. Fuck. Stephen. God, you feel good."

Jon can never stay in character.

His mouth moves from Stephen's neck to take his lips in a clumsy, heated kiss. Stephen moans, whispers, "Jon, please."

The thrusting disappears and Stephen hears a low chuckle escaping around murmured words. "Okay. But only 'cause you said please." 

Stephen barely has time to mourn the loss of movement when his dick is surrounded, grasped between Jon's hands and Jon's own erection. Stephen grits his teeth and thinks about breathing and tries to control himself and the urge to buck up into the hand that strokes him. 

He hasn't been given permission yet.

Jon's hand quickens in pace and increases in pressure. Stephen bites the inside of his mouth until it's numb. There's a stuttering breath, a quiet curse, and Stephen feels the pulses of semen spilling over his skin. 

The weight of Jon's body leans forward, he presses a kiss to Stephen's sternum and sighs, "Let go, baby. Come for me."

Stephen's head is thrown back as his back arches and he surrenders to his release.

He lets go. He falls again.

He's trying to catch his breath as Jon reaches under him and tugs his hands free from the rope. The blindfold is pulled away and he blinks into the brightness of the overhead lights as Jon's face swims into focus, love in his eyes and a small smile on his lips. 

"You okay?"

"Perfect," Stephen says as he is finally able to touch Jon's flushed skin, to run fingers through his hair.

Stephen knows that for as long as he walks that tightrope, he'll never need a safety net. He's got the best spotter he could imagine, always ready and waiting below to catch him.

Jon presses a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Stephen lands, safely.


End file.
